Canon Keepers VII: Double Trouble
by JealousOfTheMoon
Summary: The Pevensie brothers left to their own devices in the midst of a singularly boring week are nothing to sneeze at. Throw in two unexpectedly decent Male OCs, and what do you have? Falsetto humming, forgery, coffee, and more. Oneshot. Little to no bashing.


_Warning – this is probably the hardest idea I've had to work out in a CK story, hence the long wait. I'm really uncertain as to how well I've done at this. The characters Jaer and Jaerin are Thalion, King's Daughter's characters and I do hope I've not taken too many creative liberties with them or with the two keepers in the story. The problem is, they are quite good characters, as are the Keepers, so providing the humor in the story was a bit of a stretch. At any rate, I hope this is up to everyone's expectations. I personally don't like the way the story ends but it's the best I could do._

_Another apology – there was a lot of information that I have about the brothers which I couldn't work into the story. If it seems incomplete, that's why. I heartily recommend Thalion's _The Dream Dasher_ which contains Jaer and Jaerin and Ariella. Also, she's considering writing another story about the Jaers & Co, so you might just do some subtle pleading concerning that. _

_And so, ladies and gents, without further ado: _

**Canon Keepers VII: Double Trouble **

_or _**Jaer Squared**

It's 4:45 pm and Peter Pevensie is hard at work.

Hard at work counting the minutes and seconds until he can cease pretending to work and go home. Of course, said pretense is rather useless as he consistently mutters his counting aloud.

"44 minutes and 37 seconds…"

In the next chair Ed rolls his eyes for the fifty-third time in the last thirteen minutes. This cycle continues for the next few minutes—Peter mutters, Edmund rolls—until Edmund, exasperated, throws down his pen with a cry of "Oy!"

Peter, startled and thus effectively thrown off his count, jumped and gasped the single most creative inquiry known to mankind: "Huh?!" 

"Huh?" Edmund mimicked, throwing in another eye roll for good measure. "Huh?"

"I _mean_," Peter said with no great amount of patience, "What _are _you _oy-_ing about?"

"What do you think I'm _oy-_ing about?" the younger brother cried. "What else _could_ I be _oy-_ing about? You! Yes, _you_, Peter Pevensie; you and your infernally obnoxious nervous habits. Oh, don't give me that injured-and-innocent look! You've been sitting at that desk counting down the minutes until we can leave—_out loud—_and if that isn't an infernally obnoxious nervous habit, I don't know what is! Don't you have _anything_ better to do?"

"No."

"Paperwork?"

"Done."

"Counseling? Don't tell me you're done with that. I thought our dear cousin Eustace had set you up for a year or twelve."

"Done. I got off with a week. I'm all right. It's over."

"Well, in that case you can do some of _my_ work." Edmund pushed roughly half of the stack before him towards the High King. "And don't tell me you've got to sort your pen cap collection. You fed me that excuse fifteen minutes ago, and the paper clip one fifteen minutes before that, and I'm not swallowing anything this time."

Peter groaned and slouched over the pile in a very unkingly-like manner. Edmund, clearly the more mature of the two, snickered and stuck out his tongue. Thankfully Mr. Magnificent was intent upon counting the dust particles floating before his nose and not paying any attention to his miscreant younger brother.

Truth be told, on an ordinary day, Peter wouldn't be slouching and Edmund wouldn't be sinking to such childish levels. Or perhaps it would be better to say that on an _un_ordinary day these things wouldn't have happened, for that was the problem: that day had been so ordinary that it became excruciatingly dull. Even Edmund the Just was weary of meting out sentences, giving the same "bad grammar, bad author, bad story, good day" sentence, while the Magnificent Peter thought somewhat bitterly that if he had to use the Royal Plural once more he would gag.

For a few peaceful moments, no sound could be heard but the swishing noise as papers were turned and a few scratches as responses were written and signed.

_He's actually behaving, but that never lasts too long,_ Edmund reflected morbidly, just as he was aware of something—some _noise_—coming from Peter's direction.

Humming.

Peter Pevensie, High King of Narnia, the _Magnificent_, was humming about two and a half bars of a song repeatedly. This was no grand adaptation from a fine orchestra symphony to the vocal chords. This was what the author likes to call a Bop-Bop-Girly-Girly-type tune. And Peter was humming it, using a tone of voice commonly known as falsetto.

It was not particularly becoming, and Edmund had had enough.

"By Narnia and the North, Peter, will you cease that humming?!" Ready-to-Kill Edmund was not the most tactful of creatures.

"What?!" Then again, Defensive Peter was not the most considerate being either. "Can't a chap hum a nice tune once in a while?"

"Yes. _Once in a while_; not a-thousand-times-over-and-over-again in a while!" it was slightly scary how Edmund could talk, hiss, grind his teeth, and still slip in a breath all at once. "And if the tune were actually nice that would help."

"Hoy! It _is_ a nice tune. I picked it up in the elevator the other day—"

Ed choked. "The _elevator?_ You, humming _elevator _music? Peter Pevensie, how could you sink so _low?"_

"Can't get much lower than I already am," Peter sniffed. "I mean, look at the type of work we have here. Look at these … these miserable applications! How can these people call themselves authors? Or have I forgotten, and the dictionary defines **author **as "**one who writes trash, subjects others to the torture of reading it, and still manages to be proud of said trash"**? For example—" he grabbed a sheet at random from the general middle part of his stack and barely glanced at it. "Take this one. There are two brothers. That already tells us a whole lot about it. Romances with Su and Lu, no doubt, are in the near future for _those_ two." There was a loud snort at that, but he barely notice it in his rage. "Oh yes, what a highly probable romance we have _there_! No doubt C.S. Lewis is nodding and laughing with benevolent approval in his grave as we speak. _Pah!_ Turning over violently would be closer. I don't even have to read hardly any of this to know that this story is going _downhill_. To make things worse, they have this lady-friend named—" he choked with laughter, quite unable to continue.

"Lady Ariella Thalia Raven?!" Ed gasped, having peeped 'round Peter's shoulder at the paper and caught sight of the name. He smirked. "Guess you've found yourself The One, Peter. Most definitely yours—you always get the ones with the ridiculous names." Then he gave a violent start, for he could have sworn that a rather violent choking came from somewhere. Glancing at his brother, he found him slightly annoyed but nowhere near aspirations. Ah, well…

"Before you crow too loudly, brother, I see here that the two brothers have a younger sister, which must mean…" Peter, seeking vindication for Edmund's glee over the prospects of the High King finding himself with a lady named _Ariella_, let the thought hang in a foreboding manner.

"Curses," the Just king moaned. He seized the paper from Peter's hands and, after crumpling it thoroughly, he pitched it into the nearby waste can.

The High and Magnificent King flopped back onto his office chair, bending it nearly all the way over as he stretched his arms out in a moment of stiffness-relief-seeking abandon. "Do what you like, Ed. I'm calling it a day."

Edmund opened his mouth, ready to point out the thirty remaining minutes of the workday. Then he closed it and sighed. "Give me a moment to turn off these lights."

**The Next Morning…**

Peter awkwardly juggled two briefcases and two cups of coffee as Edmund fumbled with the lock on the door, both so preoccupied that neither realized that light was coming from under the door. Finally, the lock yielded and the door swung open. One glance into the office and Edmund let out a yell that could be heard clear to Rowling on the eighth floor. He stumbled back into Peter, who had a briefcase under each arm and a cup of coffee in each hand. To avoid dousing them both with the scalding beverage, Peter released the briefcases, which both in sequence landed on his (Peter's) feet. He jumped into the air with a yowl.

The cause of this mayhem sat seemingly oblivious to all the hubbub.

I say "sat," and that is because they were, in fact, sitting at Peter and Edmund's desk in Peter and Edmund's chair, reading Peter and Edmund's paperwork. One of them had gone so far as to be working out a pretty fair imitation of Edmund's signature, while the other one was doodling an elaborate drawing of a spider on a rather important looking document.

"Oy!" cried Peter, who having sloshed the burning liquid on his wrists was trying to keep it from staining his cuffs. "Hot, by Jove, hot!"

"I say!" quoth Edmund vehemently, not realizing Peter's anguish as he focused intently on the scene before him. The forger-wannabe raised his head and shook light-brown hair out of his green eyes. He was rather leaner than the other chap (who was adding as many eyes as possible to his spider) and had a glint of mischief in his eyes. Edmund thought they might have gotten along rather well if it were not for the present circumstances. When a chap breaks into one's office, sits at one's desk, and practices faking one's signature _in one's presence_, one realizes that this relationship has all the potential of a wet firecracker.

The forger having raised his head and subsequently lowered it again (as if he were about to ignore them), he jerked it back up and froze. "Jaer!" he hissed. "_Jaer_!"

But 'Jaer' was intently giving his spider a web, and seemed not to hear him.

The first threw down his pen (after miming writing 'CLUELESS' on the oblivious Jaer's back) and stood with a sigh. "My lords," he said with a bow. "I apologize most profusely. This was not how I envisioned our meeting taking place."

Peter had ceased saying "hot!", Edmund had closed his gaping jaw, and both now stared in stunned silence. Then Edmund hissed:

"_You_ were trying to forge my signature."

"Well…" The man frowned. "I was _imitating_ it, though I don't know much what that has to do with a forge. I'm not a dwarf, if that's what you mean."

"Erm." Edmund clearly didn't know how to handle this last statement. "Clearly, no. Not a dwarf, I mean."

"Good." The self-proclaimed non-dwarf smiled, showing a lot of straight, white teeth. But before he could continue, Peter blurted, "what are you _doing _here?"

"Well—that's slightly difficult."

"What Jaerin means to say," Jaer spoke without lifting his eyes from his sketching, "is that we've been here all night hoping to catch you first thing this morning." – "I must say it worked rather well," Jaerin put in cheekily. Jaer harrumphed and continued – "However admirable Your Majesties' may be, and however unintentional this bit of negligence was on your part – quite frankly, you didn't realize we were here when you turned off the lights last night, and we thought that since you were in a bad mood we could simply wait 'till morning, though perhaps your dispositions are not so altered as we hoped."

"I don't think you realized we were here when you crumpled our application and dropped it in that rather foul smelling basin over there, either," Jaerin indicated a parchment on the desk which had obviously been crumpled, stained by something wet and nasty looking, and then someone had made a fruitless attempt to smooth and dry it. He had apparently pulled it from the trash can after the two Keepers left.

"The _point_ is," Jaer finally looked up, having finished the spider's web, "that we feel somewhat slighted and don't believe you've given us a proper chance."

"It was a terribly misguided judgment you passed on us, my lords," Jaerin added. Edmund flushed at this—passing wrong judgment was not something he did every day. "We thought maybe if we waited here for you, you'd give us a bit of a chance. Of course, it would have helped if you kept some provisions here in this thing you call an office. It's a step down from Cair Paravel, isn't it?"

"Don't remind me," Peter muttered. Then, louder, he said, "If you would be so good as to take a seat somewhere besides behind our desk, we will hear your case."

The brothers obliged. Edmund found a pen and a pad of paper being thrust at him by Peter, which he took, but not without grumbling about how _he_ always got stuck with the documenting, and who did Peter think he was, his private secretary? Jaer had spoken rightly – neither of them _were_ in the best of humors.

"Names?" Peter began.

"Jaer." Jaerin began, pointing at the other.

"Jaerin." Jaer followed Jaerin's example.

"Peridanson." Both spoke simultaneously.

'_Nice,_' Edmund thought, trying not to smirk, for it looked desperately like something he and Peter would rehearse at dinner just to drive their sisters mad.

"Twins, I presume?"

"Nay, my High King," Jaerin spoke. "Merely named after the custom of Archenland – it was thence our father came into your lands to serve at your court. You'll notice we are not identical—differences in eyes, build, and height cause that to be impossible—and an age difference of one year makes twinship out of the question."

"Let me guess," Edmund broke in, "you are the elder of the two." He pointed at Jaer, who said dryly, "However did you guess?"

"Hey!" Objection coming from Jaerin. "Just because he doesn't know how to have fun _quite_ as well as I do doesn't mean you have to assume I'm younger! After all—" he preened slightly. "I _am_ taller."

"As I am daily reminded," Jaer grumbled, but he was grinning nonetheless.

Peter cleared his throat. "Author?"

Jaerin caught up the piece of paper and held it just in front of the High King's nose. "Why don't you just read this?"

Peter eyed the rather putrid piece of paper with revulsion. "Er—why don't you put that on the desk there—yes, away from my nose, thank you," he muttered. "_Thalion, King's Daughter_…quite the name…_scores 100 on Narnia Knowledge Tests…_impressive… fairly good level of experience…Everything seems to check up there, so we'll move on. Ehm…I hope you don't mind me asking," he said uncomfortably, "but do you ever, by chance, fall in love with our sisters?"

It must be said that Peter's discomfort in asking this question is quite notable. Generally speaking, this was The Question, the one that produced the most side-splitting answers and with which they typically had the most fun. Ever since Jaerin used the term 'misguided judgment,' he'd had the feeling that he was being stupid, and now he was afraid of looking it.

"Ach, my lord!" Jaerin burst out. "Who would not fall in love with the Valiant Lucy, forsooth, for aye and she is most heartily endowed with all manners of inward beauty and outward loveliness to make my soul wish to cling tightly to hers for the rest of my days!"

Jaer's jaw dropped. Edmund's expression became thunderous.

For a moment Peter spluttered, unable to find the right words to express the violent reaction he was experiencing – '_and I thought perhaps these lads had a bit of sense!'_ –then, giving it up, said, "Well, that aside—"

"Ahem," Jaerin coughed, waving a piece of parchment. "Close your opened mouth, my dear brother, and cease your death glares, King Edmund (with all due respect). I was merely reading from a bit of a story I found here on your desk."

Peter might have felt foolish, but seeing as the clever Jaerin had hoodwinked his own brother it didn't matter so much.

"What I intended to say, Sire," Jaer said calmly, "before my brother broke in with that unwholesome bit of literature" (and here Jaerin gave a bow) "was that the way we see the matter of romance, they are our Queens and as such unapproachable. Other noblemen may pine after them, but while we find them to be all that is good and lovely, it would be highly inappropriate for us to approach them as anything but Sovereigns and Friends."

"Not to mention that Queen Lucy is our little sister's best friend," Jaerin added. "I would not approach one so young."

Jaer muttered something which sounded suspiciously like "young—and what are you?" but merely shook his head.

"And who is this—" Peter noticeably squirmed—"Lady Ariella?"

Much to his surprise, Jaer seemed to flush (almost _blushing_) and Jaerin snickered. "She is, unfortunately, not destined for you, m'lord," he grinned, "though I suspect our Author will have ol' Jaer here falling for her pretty hard, I expect." He added gleefully, "if he hasn't fallen for her already."

Jaer looked as though he would rather pound his head against a nearby wall and plant it in the trash can than have his brother express something so delicate in such a blunt manner before his sovereigns. He refrained from speaking, though his head looked as though it might explode or set off a smoke alarm.

"And your younger sister?" While Peter's expression was one of relief at Jaerin's answer to his previous question and Jaer's corresponding expression, it was not Edmund who asked this question in a tight, uncomfortable voice.

"My lord," Jaerin's voice was softer now, "she would not aspire to such an honor. She may admire you, certainly, but she also knows her place—as we do with your sisters. Not to mention she is your youngest sister's good friend, and would most likely view any romantic relationship involving either of you with strong revulsion (no offense intended to your royal persons)."

"No offense taken," Edmund said, and for the first time in this whole ordeal he gave a genuine smile.

Fifteen minutes later, the four of them were talking quite companionably about battles and heroes and drawing. Edmund explained forgery to Jaerin, who apologized quite vehemently (he really hadn't thought it would do any harm, his imitating the king's script, for to his knowledge the handwriting was not important – generally done by scribes – and the king's seal what mattered for the most part). They had quite a jolly time, and all the misunderstandings were cleared. But when Peter suggested they all go out to Starbucks for some coffee, the brothers rose hastily and declined, saying their author simply hated it and (though they never really found out from her what '_cof-fee'_ was) if they came home smelling like it she might not appreciate it and anyway they really should be going…

Later that day over lunch, Jaer and Jaerin having departed long ago, the Edmund asked of Peter: "Who do you suppose caused more trouble today—Jaer or Jaerin?"

To which Peter responded slowly, "Do you know, Ed, I've a funny feeling that _we_ caused most of today's trouble."

Though Edmund snorted at this, perhaps Peter was not so far from the mark after all.

But you can be the judge of that.

**Next Up: I've several ideas for CK stories – given to me by my dear readers and my own not-so-dear twisted mind. However, I do think I'll take a bit of a break from CK and work on a corresponding idea I've had: **_How to Kill a Narnian Mary Sue (LWW)_. **It will be multi-chapter and rather funny (I hope). I've got a few chapters done, so after I've got some feedback for this story I'll start the posting. Expect that and more CK soon! -JotM**


End file.
